


I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

by Fool of a Book Wyrm (Lafeli85)



Series: Exchanges & Gifts [13]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Book 2: Wayward Son, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Smut, Snowbaz will always get a happy ending with me thanks, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeli85/pseuds/Fool%20of%20a%20Book%20Wyrm
Summary: I lean back against the wall of the milkshake parlour. I close my eyes. Deep breath in, deep breath out.The whole world smells of blood and alcohol and burnt popcorn—My eyes snap open. Simon is standing in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.I stand up straighter, trying to look more put together than I feel. “Go back,” I tell him under my breath. “We’re surrounded by vampires.”“You’re a vampire,” he mutters incredulously.~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Simon finds Baz after his first meeting with Lamb. Still a little tipsy, Baz and Simon explore the Vegas strip and everything Sin City has to offer.Wayward Son compliant until the moment Lamb leaves Baz after the milkshake parlor. This is a "what if" Baz and Simon didn't go directly back to the hotel after Baz's meeting with the vampires.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Exchanges & Gifts [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077686
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [it_is_twelve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_is_twelve/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TWELVE!!
> 
> I am so happy that I have gotten to know you over these past several months. You are such an outgoing ball of energy, friendly, and fun to talk to! When I jokingly told you I'd attempt to write you Malmage for your birthday you confessed that fake relationships are actually your favourite. This is not fake relationship as much as accidental marriage, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. I know how you feel about Wayward Son, so I hope this provides you with a temporary "fix" while we wait for AWTWB to release. 
> 
> As you all know, I am rubbish with titles. So the title for this fic is credited to the song by Elvis Presley, because what's a fic set in Vegas without a little Elvis thrown in? (For a treat!)
> 
> As always, endless thanks and praise to my friends and betas for your continued support not only in my writing but for so very many things. I love you guys! [AliceLiddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceLiddle/pseuds/AliceLiddle), [Caitybug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug), and [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) (And extra thanks to Kris for helping me fix the last couple lines when I really hated what I had. And middle of the night formatting panic. And you know, for being our Smut King as well. Or w/e.)

BAZ

_“Tomorrow. Two o’clock. Lotus of Siam.” Lamb is already walking away, barely glancing back at me._

I lean back against the wall of the milkshake parlour. I close my eyes. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

The whole world smells of blood and alcohol and burnt popcorn—

My eyes snap open. Simon is standing in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. 

I stand up straighter, trying to look more put together than I feel. “Go back,” I tell him under my breath. “We’re surrounded by vampires.”

“ _You’re_ a vampire,” he mutters incredulously. 

“Yes,” I agree. “But _I’m_ not going to eat you. _They_ won’t think twice.”

A tall vampire stops not a half block away, watching us. I can feel him sizing Simon up, deciding if he’s with me or a free meal. 

I wrap an arm around his waist, leaning in close. “We’re going in here,” I whisper in his ear, “pretend you’re enthralled by me.”

I order us a couple of milkshakes. Cherry for Simon, mocha for me. There's probably more alcohol in these milkshakes than we should be drinking.

Maybe, for just this one night, we can pretend to be happy boyfriends on a date.

“What was that about?” Simon asks. It sounds more like an accusation than a question. Maybe we _can’t_ pretend to be happy for the night.

“What was _what_ about?” The question sounds more severe than I intended. 

“ _Him,”_ he spits out. “ _Lamb_. Or whatever stupid name he used.”

“He was giving me information. Information we _need,_ ” I remind him. I don't understand why he's worked up a strop. He knew what I needed to do. 

“Seducing a vampire was not part of the plan.” He swirls his straw around his milkshake. “It is _never_ part of the plan!”

I raise an eyebrow at him. I swear sometimes he forgets he's dating a vampire.

“Do you listen to yourself?” I ask. I can't help it. I giggle just thinking about it. (Crowley, I will hate myself when I'm sober.)

“Yeah,” he says, pouting, “what's so funny?”

“ _You_ , Simon Snow,” I say pointing a finger in his face, “are an idiot.”

“Am not.”

“You are. You’re jealous at the thought of me trying to seduce a vampire.” I take another drink of my milkshake. “But _you’re_ the one who has already seduced a vampire.”

The look he’s giving me is comical. He truly is an idiot. 

“It's me, by the way,” I tell him after I’m sure he’s still not comprehending what I’m telling him. “I'm the vampire.”

He stops sucking down his milkshake to gape at me. 

Then we both burst into a fit of laughter. 

I'm not even sure if it was funny. But seeing him laugh is all I need. 

_Maybe we’ll be okay after all._

We finish our milkshakes and stumble back out onto the strip. 

Time ceases to mean anything. 

Bright lights. 

A crescendo of sounds. 

Fountains with water dancing to the beat of Simon’s pulse. 

Cards exchanging hands at a poker table. 

Statues of vaguely famous people. 

The world is a blur. A work of art. The life that we never get to enjoy at home. 

A locked toilet stall in the back of a jazz club. 

A slurred _**"Clean as a whistle!"**_ and _**"Silence is golden!"**_

Hands in my hair. A fevered press of lips to my mouth. 

My tongue laving over the mole just below Simon’s ear. 

Buttons sloppily undone. Flies unzipped.

_“Simon.”_ My voice is rough. I almost don’t recognise it coming from my own mouth. _“May I?”_ It’s the question I’ve been wanting to ask. Too afraid he’d think I was pushing him, after that first time. 

I look up to him from my place at his feet, kneeling before him. A Pitch ready to pay homage to the god Apollo. 

He dips his head, eyes meeting mine. Heavy, lidded, filled with a lust I’ve never seen. 

_“Yeah,”_ he whispers, _“yes. Please.”_

I slide his trousers and pants down in one fluid motion. Palms on his warm freckled skin.

There’s a mole on the side of his knee I’ve never seen before. I kiss it reverently. Lips trailing up his leg—whispering every secret passion I’ve held for this man for so many years. Secrets I thought would go with me to my grave. Secrets I thought he’d reject. 

I breathe him in, a combination of his natural scent, brown butter, and a hint of iron. (It’s like all of his blood has come to greet me.) ( _Focus, Basilton._ )

“Baz.” My name is a plea.

I take him into my mouth, careful not to overwhelm him. Afraid to spook him now that I have him bare before me. 

He fists a hand into my hair, pushing me a little farther onto him. I take it, I would take everything he’s willing to give. 

I’m drunk on Simon Snow. The taste, the smell, the feel of his hand in my hair and the murmurs of want falling from his lips. 

I am so far gone that by the time I realize why he’s whimpering my name, I’m already swallowing the evidence of his pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long to get us tidy enough to venture back into public. 

When we both stop in front of the same small white-washed building, a grin spreads stupidly across Simon’s face.

“Baz,” he says, turning to me, “let’s do it.” 

My back is pressed against cold porcelain while my front is compressed by a solid warm weight. 

I groan, opening my eyes a fraction. 

A mop of bronze curls tickles my nose. I try to shift positions, only to find myself trapped in a bathtub with a full-grown dragon-boy sprawled over me. 

“Simon,” I manage to croak out. “Simon, get up.”

A sharp knock pierces the relative silence in the room. 

_Where are we?_

“Simon! Basil!” Penelope’s voice is shrill to my ears. “Do I need to send the American in there to check on you two?”

“Cool it, Bunce!” I shout best I can. Everything feels like a shout. 

_How much did we drink last night? My head feels heavy, and the light’s too bright._

Another rap at the door. “Basil! I’m coming in! You and Simon have some explaining to do!”

Without further warning or care for decency, she spells the door open with an _**“Open sesame!”**_

“What could you possibly need that requires breaking into—” 

Simon pulls himself off me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

That catches my attention. I grab his hand and examine it. 

_Well, that’s new._

_  
_

__I look at my own hand to find a match.

“Exactly!” Penelope shouts. Shouting. Always shouting. “And you had these photos and papers in your jacket pocket, Basil.”

I take the papers from her to examine. The first paper reads _**Certificate of Marriage**_ and is accompanied by a photo strip of Simon and me in a chapel. Exchanging rings. _In front of Elvis fucking Presley._ (Or some overweight variation.)

“ _What_ ,” she asks pointedly, “happened last night after Simon left here to go find you?”

I run both of my hands through my hair, giving it a small exasperated yank. (A habit I’ve apparently picked up from Simon.) (My _husband?_ )

“I found Baz at a milkshake parlour,” he says slowly. Like the details are muddled. “And then we were being watched by vampires so we went inside to hide?” He says the last part like it’s a question. 

I realize I don’t have much more of a memory either. The electric lights, music, and intoxication of the strip all blur together. Hazy memories from the floor of a restroom, worshipping the only greater power I’ve ever believed in. 

“We drank probably a bit too much,” I admit, “and ended up walking the strip.”

“You clearly did more than walk the strip, Basil! The two of you are legally _married_!” She looks like she’s done with both of us. (Usually she reserves that look for Simon alone.) “I’m not sure if the certificate will hold, with magicked passports and all. But I’m not keen to explain it when we get back home.”

“We’ll get it sorted, Bunce. Don’t worry your head over it,” I tell her.

“See that you do!” she says, turning on her heels. “I’m going to try and find us something to eat,” she adds over her shoulder.

I look at Simon when we’re alone. 

The silence hangs between us. 

“So,” Simon finally says, “we’re married?”

“It appears so.” 

_I wish I knew what he was thinking._

“Should we—” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He doesn’t want to say it. _Divorce._ It would be too much like ending things once and for all. Ripping off the plaster, as it were. 

_Simon Snow, you used to be mine. You were mine last night. Please let us keep this._

“No,” I choke out. I hate my traitorous voice. I clear my throat. “No,” I say again, surer this time. 

“Baz.” His voice has a pleading tone to it.

“No, Simon.” I don’t waver this time. I take him by the hand. “I don’t want to annul this. I don’t even know if it’s legally binding. We’re not Americans, and we don’t even have proper identification. But I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen any more than I want to pretend that everything else is okay.”

Simon is biting his lip, looking down at our joined hands. The hands with a matching set of cheap rings.

There’s a long beat of silence. I give him all the time he needs to think. I would give him eternity if it would help.

“Things aren’t okay,” he finally says. I feel like I’ve stopped breathing. My undead heart has made its last beat. “But I think maybe—” He swallows. Takes another moment to think. “Maybe things can get that way.”

I sigh an inaudible breath of relief. I can feel my heart again. One beat for every three of Simon’s, but beating all the same. 

This is not the way I ever would have imagined getting married to Simon Snow. 

It is, however, the marriage that will help us learn to carry on.

Simon must think so, too; he looks at me with a crooked smile, and the next thing I know, we both burst into a fit of laughter.

We really will be okay after all.


End file.
